I'm a columnist at the Washington Post and I wrote this story as part of the Deep Read series

which is a showcase for narrative journalism at the post. I came to this story through my brother who's a Texan and he would send me

little clips on this guy, J.B. Mooney and he said you have to write about him.

He's the greatest bull riding rodeo cowboy in the world. And when I finally got around to

following my brother's advice, I discovered that he had just been thrown at a rodeo in Lewiston, Idaho and broken his neck.

For a moment I was disappointed and I thought,

well, I can't do the story now.

He's been forced to retire.

And then I thought, no, maybe it's an even better story.

It was a really fascinating experience.

It's so outside the usual sports writing experience.

You know, it's not mainstream.

It's not very artificial.

I mean, a bull rider gets on the bull with nothing but a rope.

There's no gear, you know, there's no equipment. Some bull riders don't even wear

helmets. J. B. Mooney doesn't wear a helmet. He wore a hat. You've got

shaps and boots and a rope and that's it and the bull.

Trying to understand bull riding is a difficult thing to begin with,

but I was very fortunate to have a subject who understands himself.

The story is about arguably the greatest bull rider who ever lived,

who was thrown from a bull and forced to retire and not only managed to accept his fate but made friends with it.

A note to listeners, this story contains profanity.

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